


From the Depths of the Ice

by octopus_fool



Series: Yuletide Cheer [25]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/F, Ice, Nature, Supernatural Elements, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-22 07:25:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17055680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/octopus_fool/pseuds/octopus_fool
Summary: A nightly walk on the ice leads to an unexpected encounter.





	From the Depths of the Ice

**Author's Note:**

> Written for day 19 of [Arda Advent](http://ardaprompts.tumblr.com/post/180626386876/join-me-in-creating-wintery-fanworks-about), the prompt was "frozen lake".
> 
> This one was also inspired by Gottfried Keller’s poem “Winternacht”.

Cerinwen cautiously set a foot onto the ice. The frost had held the land in its grip for weeks and she had been on the frozen sidearm of the Withywindle only that day, but people had paid dearly in the past for not respecting the ice. The ice held and she walked towards the middle of it.

The stars shone above her, bright enough that she could easily imagine the first elves finding their way across continents under their light. The starlight sparkled in the snow on the banks, but a crisp wind had blown all snow from the ice. It lay dark and greenish beneath her, the lake’s bottom seeming as far away as the stars reflected in the ice. 

Her footsteps echoed in the lake, the ice creaking and singing its eerie song. It was strong, she told herself, as strong as the winter and the turning of time. The ice would sing and she would wander.

There was a movement in the water. Cerinwen stopped, looking into the murky green depths beneath her feet. The dark water hesitated to reveal its secrets. Only slowly, green separated from the darkness, rising towards her. 

A tangle of vines, of leaves and stems and creepers grew from the depths, reaching for the ice. Water lilies, frogbit, water crowfoot and pond weed waved and quivered, swaying in some invisible current. 

A hand reached out of the depths, gripping the tangle of plants with long, pale fingers. A second hand followed, then a pale figure, pulling itself up along the green of the lake. 

A face, as pale and beautiful as the moon, stared up at Cerinwen. Long, golden hair flowed out around it, swaying in the current. Blue eyes, as deep as time, locked onto hers. Elegantly curved lips exhaled a series of silvery bubbles which drifted under the ice. 

Slowly, the pale hands felt across the surface of the ice. Cerinwen was on her knees. Mesmerised, she stretched out her own hands, touching the ice where the woman’s hands were. 

The pale woman’s hands stilled. Slowly, a smile stretched across her lips. Cerinwen knelt and waited. The minutes stretched, the stars shone and ages might have passed as they did in the beginning of the earth.

A pale hand pulled back from the ice, retreating into the unseen depths, only to return into Cerinwen’s sight with the bud of a water lily. The woman pressed it to her lips. With a slow movement, she brought the bud to the ice.

Her hands pressed against the ice, but the bud seemed to grow into the ice. Beneath her hands, Cerinwen could feel the bud emerge. She carefully held the cold bud between her fingers. On an impulse, she pressed her lips against the bud. Slowly, the bud opened, the flower springing to life, still edged by silvery frost. 

The woman in the water smiled, then dove back into the depths of the lake, leaving the plants weaving in her wake. Cerinwen waited until dawn turned the sky in the east golden, but she did not return.

 

Cerinwen dreamt of her, tapping against the ice with her long fingers, sitting golden on the banks in spring. She dreamt of her hair, her ancient eyes and the bubbles rising from the elegant curve of her lips.

When Cerinwen returned to the lake the next day, there was no sign of the plants, no sign of the ice woman. She did not return that night, even though Cerinwen wandered the ice, the water lily clasped between her icy fingers.

 

When spring came, Cerinwen donned her best clothes and her favourite blue broach. She filled a willow basket with wildflowers that she picked on the meadows. She set it afloat on the side arm of the Withywindle, watching as it floated away. When it reached the centre of the lake, a pale hand grasped the basket and pulled it into the water. There was a brief ripple in the water, then the lake lay in the bright sunshine as if nothing had happened. Cerinwen smiled and returned home.


End file.
